


so bright and so fast

by ThatWeirdGuyInTheBushes



Category: Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Alexis | Quackity Angst, Alexis | Quackity-centric, Fluff and Angst, Gen, Grief/Mourning, Hurt/Comfort, Platonic Relationships, Schlatt is dead, Slow Dancing, Wakes & Funerals, complicated feelings, its weird, kind of, quangst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-29
Updated: 2020-11-29
Packaged: 2021-03-09 23:01:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,450
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27774199
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThatWeirdGuyInTheBushes/pseuds/ThatWeirdGuyInTheBushes
Summary: Alex has always liked suits. They’re too much effort to wear all the time, but he likes them. Schlatt never cared about the effort as long as he looked good because that was just how Schlatt was. He decided one day that he was going to wear suits, every day, for the rest of his life, and then he did it.He feels weird for thinking about Schlatt. Then he feels weird for feeling weird because this whole thing is about Schlatt, isn’t it?-Schlatt is dead. Alex doesn't really know how he feels about that, yet.
Relationships: Alexis | Quackity & Floris | Fundy, Alexis | Quackity & Jschlatt, dont be weird - Relationship, everything is platonic - Relationship, nerds - Relationship
Comments: 13
Kudos: 123





	so bright and so fast

**Author's Note:**

> the title is from "Black Me Out" by Against! Me

Alex’s head hurts.

It’s been hurting all morning. It’s been hurting since Schlatt died. Really, it’s been hurting since he won the election. That’s what this whole funeral and his relationship with Schlatt and his time in the Dream SMP has been: A fucking headache.

But he’s still here, still kicking, even after all that shit. That has to count for something.

He feels a little bit of empathy for Bad. He certainly wouldn’t want to organize this thing. But if anyone has to do it, it should be the town minister. It should be the guy without any attachment to Schlatt, to this whole mess.

On the day of the funeral, Alex climbs up to the top of Eret’s tower and watches the sun move across the sky. He lays down and stretches out his arms, like any second they’re going to turn into wings. He wishes they would. He wishes they had done when he and Tubbo were standing up here before the final battle. Maybe things would have turned out differently if they hadn’t had the balls to stay.

And even if nothing had changed, maybe it would have been worth it to get out not knowing. To live in a world where Schlatt and Wilbur were alive and Manberg was built on something other than blood and craters and everyone was happy. Maybe he could have felt like he actually won something.

He has to go to a funeral today. That’s not something he can wonder about, not something he can debate or question the existence of. It’s not anything moral. It’s not a feeling. There are no questions about where or when or whether it’s happening because it’s solid and concrete like nothing in Alex’s life is anymore.

He gets up. Pulls on his beanie. His suit in his house, waiting for him.

Alex has a funeral to get to. He doesn’t want to be late.

-

Alex has always liked suits. They’re too much effort to wear all the time, but he likes them. Schlatt never cared about the effort as long as he looked good because that was just how Schlatt was. He decided one day that he was going to wear suits, every day, for the rest of his life, and then he did it.

He feels weird for thinking about Schlatt. Then he feels weird for feeling weird because this whole thing is about Schlatt, isn’t it?

Fundy is sitting beside him. He keeps pulling at the lapels of his suit, adjusting the shoulders, picking at the seams. He never liked suits. Alex doesn’t think anyone liked the suits except for him.

Alex sees Eret out of the corner of his eyes, for once wearing a regular suit and not his royal cape. He doesn’t have a crown anymore. Maybe he likes suits. Maybe Alex should have asked.

“Schlatt was a complicated person,” Bad says, and Alex snorts. That’s one way to put it. He blocks out the other speeches until it’s his turn, but then he’s nervous because he doesn’t know the mood, and he doesn’t know if everyone else was polite and cold or rowdy and honest and he’s got an idea in his head but it’s disintegrating more the longer he stands here.

He was going to say something meaningful. He was finally going to talk about all of the feelings and memories corroding him from the inside. He was going to _say something_ about Schlatt and about his administration and about how much he drank and about why Alex followed him to Hell and about how he tore this country into pieces just so everyone else could be as miserable and doomed as he was _._ But the words are eaten up by his stomach acid.

“When Schlatt wanted to do something, he did it. And nothing stood in his way. No one could talk him out of something once he wanted it, not even his own consciousness. So when he wanted power, he got it. And when he wanted Tubbo to decorate his own fucking funeral, he made him do it. And when he decided that he was going to wear suits every single day until he _died,_ he did it. That was just who Schlatt was. He was-” and then Alex’s voice breaks. If this were a movie, if this were a soap opera, he might start crying. But there’s nothing else left in him after. Just a hollow space where the words that could have set him free used to be.

And he goes back to his seat. And the funeral ends. And Alex is sitting on top of a hill, overlooking the crater that he used to want to rule, and he still hasn’t said anything at all.

It’s already midnight when someone sits down beside him.

“Shit funeral,” Fundy says. Alex throws a pebble down the hill, his chin on his knees, and hums in agreement. “At least we won’t have to go through it again with Wilbur, since he’s a ghost and all.”

Alex threads his fingers together, watching the lines on his knuckles crinkle and uncrinkle as he flexes them. “Yeah,” he finally mutters.

He doesn’t know what’s with him. He thought that Schlatt being gone could give him something. He should be sad or jumping for joy, or relieved, at the least. But he’s just tired.

Fundy’s arm brushes against his. “Y’know, it’s weird,” Fundy starts. “We were the closest to him, but we never really talked. That’s weird, isn’t it?”

“Yeah,” Alex says again. “Weird.” Alex sighs and flops onto his back. He’s ruining his suit. If Schlatt could see this, he’d be furious. He watches the stars, and it’s weird to think they’re the same ones that he’s always seen. When he was seventeen, going on nighttime adventures with Ani. Playing in that tournament with Junky, cooking rabbit over a campfire, hiding from Techno and laughing until their stomachs hurt.

He fell in love with what he could do under these stars. He fell in love with this country, with the idea of greatness, with the hope that one day he would do something _amazing._

“Do you want to dance?” Alex lifts his head up and looks at Fundy for the first time. He’s leaning back on his hands, looking at the stars just like Alex was. What is he thinking about? What does he remember about them?

“Why?”

“It’s a nice night.”

And Alex-

Alex smiles. And he laughs, loud and long and desperate and full.

“Yeah,” he says again. “Yeah, let’s dance.”

Neither of them is very good at this whole waltzing thing. It’s clumsy and too fast, and they step on each other’s toes more often than not. Alex hasn’t been this happy in a long time.

They’re slow dancing now, and there’s no music except for the crickets, and it’s kind of funny because they’re both really tired and neither of them has ever slow danced before. “Do you think it meant something? Schlatt and Wilbur and everything.” Alex yawns and puts his head on Fundy’s shoulder.

“I dunno. Does it have to?” Fundy moves their linked hands, teetering their arms together up and down like a seesaw. It’s funnier than it probably should be.

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, like, does it have to mean anything? It’s over. It happened, and it sucked ass, and now it’s over. And that’s it.” Fundy yawns as well, loud, and Alex lifts his head up and disconnects their fingers.

Alex runs his hands down his face. He presses the heels of them on his eyelids so he can’t tell if he’s crying or not. “That’s it?”

Fundy’s voice is soft. “That’s it.”

And then he laughs again, and it’s real and even louder than last time _._ “That’s it!” He yells at the top of his lungs. He kicks a rock off the edge of the hill. He looks up at the stars and they’re just the same stupid balls of gas that they’ve always fucking been. There’s no deeper meaning. There’s nothing to be gained. None of it matters because it’s over and it happened and _that’s it._ “He’s fucking dead, Fundy!”

And Fundy is laughing too, and then they’re hugging and laughing and maybe they’re crying but neither of them cares. Alex leads the waltz, this time.

“I’m never wearing a suit again,” Fundy tells him as they watch the sunrise.

“Good for you,” Alex says, and he means it. “We’re gonna be okay.”

It wasn’t a question, but Fundy answers anyway. “Yeah.”

It’s just that simple. It’s over, and Schlatt’s dead, and they’re going to be okay, and that’s all there is to it.

**Author's Note:**

> can you tell ive been watching bojack horseman
> 
> comment and give me life


End file.
